


The Four Horsemen

by ChuckTingle



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 21:48:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChuckTingle/pseuds/ChuckTingle
Summary: A short four-part series of vignettes about the OCs included in my fic Doctor's Orders. If you're one of the 2 people who care, and want to avoid spoilers, I wouldn't read this until after reading chapter 36 of DO.





	The Four Horsemen

**Author's Note:**

> But I'm ditching the coffin, so my family has options  
> Gotta work till' I'm dead  
> So that they get the best  
> Don't wanna set up a bad example cause the kids looking up  
> Can't leave in shambles can't make them think clocking out's ok  
> [So fuck suicide I'm here to stay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFSg01HDqAk)

When he was fourteen, they told him he was a goner.

A young man; smart, tall, with a dangerously blunt sense of humor. Tatsuya Yasuke was nothing special, and he never wanted to be. He liked himself just fine. When he looked in the mirror, he liked what he saw. His long hair, his dark eyes, the shape of his face. It all fit him, was just the way he liked it, and seemed perfect for the way he liked to live his life. At fourteen, all Tatsuya wanted was to play video games and hang out with his friends, maybe get up to some teenage mischief.

His heart was full of love for life, and then they told him he was a goner.

He didn't understand, at first, when the doctor told him his heart was sick. That he was dying. That he had some time, but there was nothing they could do for him in the long run. His disease was terminal. He would hold on as long as his heart would.

The knowledge changed everything. He'd held a balloon of hope high, floating up above everything, until one day, it shattered like the whole time it had been made of glass. Like he'd never really had a balloon at all. Hope seemed arbitrary when the end was nigh. His parents circled him like vultures. Condolences filed in day after day. Relatives visited. Doctors prognosticated. Suddenly, every goodbye felt like the last.

_I'm still breathing,_ he felt the need to say, _I'm not dead yet._

He wasn't dead yet.

Despite this, he felt like he wanted to be. It seemed that every other day during his third year of middle school, he was in some office, or some hospital, or there was some kind of cardiac specialist in the house. They gave him a year. No, six months. Miracles would happen-- a year and a half. Against all original projections, Tatsuya lived to be sixteen. Then seventeen. He lived, but he never stopped dying.

It had been two years, three months, fifteen days and four hours since the moment he'd been condemned to death. He had been counting, and things were not looking up. This evening, he found himself lying on his stomach on his unmade bed, holding a joint lazily between his pointer and middle fingers. It was warm out. Humid. He exhaled a thick, billowing puff of smoke into his room and stared at the posters on his wall. Obscure internet metal bands. American satirical comedy. He knew what he liked, and he knew how he wanted to live his life. It was hard to get marijuana in Japan these days, but he knew a guy. He had connections. Whatever he wanted to do-- _that's_ what he did with his time.

He had no idea how much he had left, after all. He dropped his joint onto a nearby ashtray and watched it smoke with complete disregard, opting instead to destroy his lungs with a certifiably legal cigarette. The smoke filled his lungs and he held it, feeling the burn, then exhaled again, letting new smoke join the old in the haze of his bedroom. When he was stoned and zoned, the murky air filled him with a strangely comforting sense of zen. When he was high, everything felt okay for a moment. When he was high, his heart felt whole. Not like a ticking time bomb. A lump of useless, rotting flesh.

All his life, Tatsuya had never considered himself much of a romantic. His school friend, Sakazaki, a showy and flirty type, seemed to ooze romance to the point it was almost sickening. He was French, or so Tatsuya thought, and often splashed little French words or sayings into his Japanese speech for nuance. Or maybe he wasn't French at all, and simply did it to seem cool and exotic. No, he figured. He seemed gay enough to be French. They talked sometimes, but he was a little off in the head, Tatsuya thought… he wasn't all that close with him. He wasn't all that close with anyone from school.

Since elementary school, his closest friend had been a doe-eyed rich boy from a Christian family named Kamiya Rin. Kamiya was his best friend, but only for lack of better ones. There was Shirato, he supposed, the nerdy, quiet, feminine one who liked plants... but he was more of a dealer than a friend. There weren’t girls. He’d never cared much for the idea of dating or sex. 

_God, no, I’m not gay. Who do you think I am?_

He just didn’t need anyone. Didn’t want anyone.

Kamiya, though... Kamiya was there for him, no matter what. It was a little odd, if he was being honest. 

The boy seemed to cling to him like a moth to a flame, as if just waiting for Tatsuya to ask for anything, simply so he could cater to his every need. While it was nice to have someone to do things for him when he was too lazy, it was all too familiar. All too boring.

Tatsuya had given one ultimatum when he'd been diagnosed with heart disease-- no one knows outside the family. His parents tried to urge him to be more open about his struggles and accept help, but help was the last thing he wanted. His family all treated him like some poor, helpless angel. The dying kid. Make-A-Wish material. A convenient object of pity and patronization. To be normal in the eyes of his schoolmates was all he'd ever wanted, and for the most part, no one gave him the time of day. Kamiya, though, was a different kind of schoolmate. He had latched onto him, and even ignorant to his illness, found him worth doting on all the time. It was a sick irony Tatsuya liked to smoke to forget.

Kamiya Rin felt like family. Like an annoying cousin who always came to his house to be “helpful.” Nonetheless, he _was_ family, and he cared for him. Sometimes, he thought about telling him the truth.

_"I'm dying,”_ he'd say simply, and take a drag. He would joke, to take focus off the grimness of his reality, exhaling smoke casually and saying, _"Sucks, right?"_

Yet, the words would never come. Something about Kamiya seemed so fragile, like a gently blown glass vase that would shatter if he were knocked over. Tatsuya wasn't sure he could handle news like that…

Would it be better for him to simply disappear one day? To show up at his door to find his tear-drenched parents, crying and informing him that Tatsuya Yasuke was dead. He ceased to be. He was over, done with, and history. Just like that.

He drank and smoke to keep the clock ticking along. The sooner he died, the better. Maybe the afterlife was less boring. Less meaningless. His life was a mere speck on a timeline of billions more relevant. When they had told him he was going to die, he had accepted it. To die was his destiny. To keep living was merely his obligation.

Though Kamiya was a good friend, he wasn’t the reason ke kept on going. They argued everyday, and some things about the kid were just too much for him. He had a bunch of strong radical opinions on sex and gender, and Tatsuya couldn’t be arsed to care. If he was going to die anywhere, why did he need to change what he believed in?

No, there was a different reason Tatsuya kept getting out of bed in the morning. She knocked on the door.

Tatsuya made a weak effort to wave away some of his massive smoke cloud, barely making a dent, "Come in."

The door creaked open and his little sister Mayu, poked her head in, "Yasuke... do you have a minute?"

He put out his cigarette and smiled affectionately, patting his bed for her to sit down, "Course, Mayu. Remember the rule, right?"

Mayu rolled her eyes and entered the room, bouncing over to his bed and plopping down, "Don't smoke cigarettes. Yasu is an idiot and makes bad decisions."

Ruffling her hair, he laughed, smiling at how smart she already was, "Exactly. I've taught you well. Now what's up, lil' sis?"

Her eyes, blue and bright like an evening sky, seemed wary, "I just... had a question."

Tatsuya's stomach tensed. Mayu didn't often wear a look this solemn... she had something serious to say. He inhaled; he'd prepared himself for situations like these. She was his sister, and he loved her more than anyone else on this earth. If there was a beacon of purity, Mayu was it. She had a heart of gold and a soul of shimmering platinum. Tatsuya would do anything for her, if he were only strong enough to do anything at all.

Instead, he found himself wasting away.

"Yasu... does it hurt?"

"What, falling from heaven?"

Mayu chuckled briefly but it petered out. She wasn't having his humor right now, "No... dying."

Crickets. The faint whirr of fans and electricity.

"Uhhh..." Tatsuya stammered, playing with his own fingers nervously, "No. Not really. Why?"

She seemed relieved, and Tatsuya was glad he'd decided to lie. In reality, it hurt all the time. His chest pains could sometimes be almost unbearable. His fatigue had gotten so bad he'd had to drop out of kendo. He'd had heart attacks before. Dying hurt like _hell._ An innocent twelve year-old, though, didn't need to know. She was a worrier, just like he was. He wouldn't let her overthink things, if he could avoid it.

"Oh, I'm glad..." she said sadly, but then smiled, "I just worry about you... you know."

Tatsuya sighed and rubbed her shoulder fondly, wishing he had something better to say. No matter how much he reassured her it was painless, simple, and he was happy despite it all, reality would always hang in the air. He was dying, and although no one had outright told her, she was a sharp kid. She knew.

"I know, kiddo," he said, "I know you do. But I'm fine, okay? I'm fine."

"Okay."

They sat in silence for a few moments, reveling in each other's presence. Tatsuya's heart pulsed so loudly he swore he could feel it in his head, but perhaps that was just the drugs talking. He wondered absently what his BPM was in that moment. The doctor's liked to talk about it. Measure it. Study it.

Tatsuya didn't care.

 

“You got homework?”

Mayu nodded, “Yeah… I should probably get working on it. Though, I have a feeling you probably should too.”

“Yeah, but... you know the rule.”

“Idiot. Bad decisions.”

“Precisely,” Tatsuya said, yawning and stretching out his arms. He was starting to come down with a headache. He might just finish his joint and go to sleep. Mayu looked at him, worried, but sighed and hopped up from the bed.

“I’ll leave you alone,” she said quietly, forcing herself to smile, “I know you need your rest.”

It felt pathetic, but she was right. Lately, he was tired all the time. Though he’d known it for years, it was finally starting to feel like the end was near. His breath seemed shallower and more energy-draining every day. He felt lighter, as if his body were physically fading from the living realm.

As soon as she left the room, he grabbed a bottle of legally prescribed percocet and tossed two down his gullet. He picked up his joint and took a deep drag.

Maybe, it was just the drugs making him feel lighter.

His parents urged him desperately to stop “hurting himself” that way, but what were they supposed to say? Drugs kill? He hoped so. End his fucking misery.

The longer he lingered, the more he’d be missed. When he considered Mayu, his parents, and even Kamiya having to go on with life without him, it made his heart sink. Actually, his heart was drowning how, in a pond of murky black water. It beat on. Mocking him. He wanted to tear it out.

Closing his eyes, Tatsuya lay back on his bed on top of the covers. His world was a fuzzy cesspool of heartache and heartburn. The smoke filled the room around him and dissipated; he breathed it in. A haze of drug-induced euphoria was pulling him close. He felt happy in his little world made of drugs and solitude. Happy, but not happy for real. Not happy enough.

Smoke faded, so too did he, and as the drugs sucked Tatsuya Yasuke into a deep dreamless sleep, he barely, just barely, felt alive.

**Author's Note:**

> i turned this in for actual college credit lmao


End file.
